


unlearning

by aveporac



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Charles You Slut, Erik Has Feelings, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, i can't believe the pre-tags charles and erik already have oh myg od, it starts off a little angsty but it turns so fluffy i'm gonna kjlkfsj, literally the accurate tags, this is basically a Very Fun re-write of apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveporac/pseuds/aveporac
Summary: When a man named 'Henryk' comes and insults Charles' use of pick-up lines after a failed attempt on a beautiful lady, Charles certainly doesn't expect them to work on him instead.or, that fic where erik falls for a perfectly human charles.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i s2g this is gonna be good ok Trust Me

Someone screams.

Charles’ head jerks up from the light doze he’d fallen into and, for a moment, he wildly squints around in an effort to discern where _exactly_ that heart-breaking sound had come from. It sounded despairing, _grief-filled_ , and there’s something in him that wants to comfort whatever person that had let loose such a sound yet…

There is no one here. Or, better to say, there is none here that _would_ have made a sound so mournful considering the people around him are currently laughing and drunk off their arses. If only to prove his observation, there’s a yelp from a young man across the room as he attempts to sit down only to miss the target completely.

A smile quirks Charles’ lips. Just a dream, then. Strange that it would be so vivid in such a setting like _this_ … no, Charles came here to relax as he has done every night after his day job. A pointless nightmare, likely.

He shakes his head and reaches for a glass he hazards a guess to be his. He remembers drinking mildly when he arrived in this bar and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. He’s yet to _do_ anything, after all, and he doubts things would go faster if he weren’t inebriated at all. Taking only a small sip, he turns to scan the rest of the establishment and—

Oh, he should _not_ have dozed off at all. Not when there is such a lovely lady by the bar, chatting to the tender.  He waits until there is an obvious lull in conversation to make his move.

“I see the low concentration of brown eumelanin in your hair has done absolute wonders to bringing out the colour of your eyes,” he says smoothly as soon as he’s within earshot. He smiles at her bewildered expression and uses that as the cue to signal the bartender for another drink. Settling on the stool beside her, he leans on the counter amiably, grin widening with each second. “Tell me, how much do you know of mutation? Because, you see, those gorgeous blue eyes you have are a result of it.”

“Fascinating,” she murmurs. What a beautiful voice. He’s about to praise her on it when she continues with a softer smile, “charming, you are, but I am waiting for someone.”

A pity. Charles lets out a sigh, but gives a bow of his head in accepted defeat. Well, there will be another day. He only comes here for relaxation, in the end, not to look for a permanent companion.

“Then they are lucky,” he replies with a serene curve of his lips, “have a good evening, my dear.”

She nods and excuses herself. He watches her go, envious of the possibility, but he turns back to his drink nonetheless. Maybe next time there’ll be more of a distraction he can immerse himself with.

“That was a horrendous lot of pick-up lines. How did you expect them to work?”

Or not.

Halfway through lifting his drink to his lips, his attention is drawn away abruptly by the voice and movement on his left, and eyes land on the man that’s taken residence on the seat left by the blonde. Charles leans back, uncertain whether to be outwardly offended by the words or not. Mostly, he’s amused that the man has the audacity to speak so openly about what he thinks, and decides instead to play along with what he thinks is a hint of teasing underlining those words.

“Why, I thought my handsome and charming looks were enough to land me anyone,” he says with a widening smile. He picks his drink back up and swills it.

The man snorts. He’s waving down a drink for himself before giving a retort. “Looks aren’t everything.”

“Ah, yes, but I’m feeling quite shallow tonight.” Easy, his replies are, and the light banter is enough to entertain the tipsiness he feels dangling ‘cross his mind. “Would you be willing to indulge me instead then, my friend?”

“I’ve a mind not to considering your skills in picking people up,” he says with a laugh. He takes a gulp of his drink, and Charles is hard-pressed _not_ to glance briefly at the line of the man’s throat. Hmm. “How exactly shall I indulge you in a friendly way?”

God that accented voice getting husky and dangerously low is distracting. Quickly, Charles backtracks. He _had_ called him a friend. Perchance the man thought he wasn’t interested now, but then Charles didn’t think himself interested until a few split seconds ago. Well, with this pseudo-new life of his, why not try experimenting a little? God knows he experimented a _lot_ in college.

“You’ll tell me your name, I assume.” His smile turns cheeky and he leans forward, eyes focused on the other’s own intently. “Then from there, perhaps you can indulge me in more than friendly ways.”

“My name is Henryk,” he says, and Charles almost misses the subtle workings of his throat as he swallows. “And perhaps. Though for that to happen you’ll have to improve on the effectiveness of your lines.”

Henryk. Charles rolls the name over in his mind. He compares it to this man’s face, then thinks it over again. He just lied to Charles. He doesn’t know how he knows, but ‘Henryk’ just lied to him about his own name. Now, _that_ is interesting.

He lifts his glass to his lips and lets his tongue dart out and taste the rim. He doesn’t miss ‘Henryk’s eyes following the movement and smirks to himself.

“Shall we have a small bet, then?” Charles drains the last of his glass and sets it down with a pleased exhale. “If I manage to effectively woo someone in this bar with my extraordinary pick-up lines, you’ll tell me your real name.”

The words startle the other man visibly and _something_ glints in Henryk’s eyes at the call-out. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to let on that Charles knew something was up but the inebriation made it near-impossible to think so rationally. Still, the other seems to relax within the next two seconds with an easy nod.

“Challenge accepted.” ‘Henryk’ smiles and it’s distantly off-putting how shark-like it seems with so much _teeth_ showing, but Charles isn’t swayed. No, this night is starting to _feel_ more exciting by the minute and Charles won’t lose this challenge. He never _has_ before and so he sits up a little straighter, rests his elbow on the countertop, and leans _riiight_ forward into ‘Henryk’s space. The man in turn looks bewildered at the movement, but Charles continues with a smile that’s amped up to Maximum Charm.

“So…” he starts, but the other seems to realize his intentions in the next two seconds with a flat sigh.

“You _did_ say anyone in the bar, didn’t you? I did not realize it had to be _me_.”

“Well…” Charles finds the vocalization of the notion somewhat of a time waster, but decides to humour the man nonetheless. “You can always be my practice instead. My drawing board, to be precise. If you happen to swoon over me in the process, then I imagine our bet to be in my favour.”

A smile tugs at the other’s lips again. “You haven’t stated what _I_ get out of this.”

“Hm.” Charles tilts his head in mock-thought. “You can say to all your friends that a beautiful lady tried all night to get in your pants.”

‘Henryk’ cocks a brow. “I suppose ‘handsome man’ would be lost in translation, then?”

What a _charmer_. Charles can honestly feel his heart flutter a little. He can’t help but drag it out; he puts a hand on his chest, eyes widening in a flattered display. “ _Amazing_ pick-up line, Henryk, but this bet involves it the other way around.”

The other man smirks. “What if I said this bet is silly and that you’d be wasting precious time attempting to charm my pants off when all you could do is ask and you’ll have me for the night?”

Oh. _Oh_. Well, that is forward. Charles is reminded of a lady he once met that had been as blunt as ‘Henryk’ is being with him now, except she’d not been so impressed with his attempts. Charles wonders briefly if flirting with men is always like this, then berates himself for generalizing it.

It takes him a small moment to recover, and recover he does. “Then I’d say the prize of you is not as sweet as me expending the effort to claim you.”

Really, now, he’s bordering on dramatics here. The flirtation has always been a back-and-forth thing but it’s been a while since he’s met someone as headstrong as this one. Especially since ‘Henryk’ seems to know what he wants, unlike Charles who had stumbled upon the guy without a clue as to what direction he’s currently going.

With the way the other is momentarily—and _actually_ —flustered for about one point of a second, Charles reckons he has a fairly good feeling on what direction he wants now.

Eyes roving over the brief break in façade, Charles feels his grin become more confident than before if possible. He slips off the stool, not entirely minding the small audience in the furtive glances the bartender is shooting their way, and sidesteps the short distance to put ‘Henryk’ between the countertop and himself. Emboldened by the short stutter in the other man’s breathing, Charles crowds a little closer, knee nudging one of the man’s own to the side to make a bit more room.

“If you’d be so kind,” he says in a lower tone that prompts the other male to lean a little closer, and does not relent in holding his gaze, “I would _love_ to explore the possibilities of any mutations you have… _thoroughly_.”

As soon as he says it, he’s a little embarrassed, though he makes sure to not show that on his face. Not the _best_ pick-up he’s thought of, but he feels like he’s under pressure here, and this man is so darn _distracting_ with such a strong demeanour. A demeanour that, slowly but surely, Charles is enjoying picking apart piece by piece, even if it is done by horrible genetic flirtations.

But then, Charles needn’t have worried. Apparently no matter how horrendous they were, ‘Henryk’ seems perfectly fine reaching down with firm hands to grasp his hips and bring Charles closer. A small sound escapes his lips as he’s brought flush against him, though mostly out of surprise for this is unexpectedly _hot_. There’s ‘Henryk’s leg raising up against the back of his own too to lock them haphazardly together, and Charles almost buckles forward when the other decides to ghost his lips against the length of his jaw. Instead, Charles reaches up, attempting to find purchase atop ‘Henryk’s shoulders as his eyes flutter close to delve into the sensation.

Butterfly kisses, he realizes vaguely, and lets out a sharp exhale when ‘Henryk’ decides to teeth at the lobe of his ear. God, he’s going to have sex with this man and _enjoy_ it. He’s never lain with a man before. Never in his life but he’ll try this, just this once. Or maybe _more_ than once, he thinks as he feels those same teeth draw the sensitive flesh of his ear between hot lips and start to suck.

When he begins to open his mouth and suggest that they find somewhere more _private_ for this, ‘Henryk’ withdraws and decides to fulfil his end of the bargain.

“My real name is Erik,” he breathes against the shell of Charles’ ear, “and if you’ll still have me, I’ll be glad to spend the night with you.”

* * *

_Magneto_.

Sometime later, Charles is looking at the ceiling of Erik’s apartment, laid flat on his back on his bed and his arse absolutely _aching_ after deciding to experiment to different heights. He’s breathing hard, content yet _confused_ at the same time.

 _I just slept with Magneto_.

The man in question is breathing quietly next to him, the line of his back meeting Charles’ forearm and hip. He seems to be sleeping which is a _great_ thing, honestly, because Charles thinks he will have shot right out of bed just to avoid any confrontations. He needs time to _think_ about this, not because _he just slept with Magneto_ , but because of how _little_ he feels disturbed by the fact.

Maybe it’s because he just had some really great sex from a new position with the very man wanted for terrorism from so many different countries. Or maybe it’s because, even as the name Erik and the vaguely familiar features clicked during intercourse, he didn’t feel at all threatened by the man he’s currently sharing the bed with. Foolish perhaps to lack so much caution but Charles never found his instincts wrong.  Not now, not ever, and so even as he muses more over the fact—as he feels the stir of the naked body next to him—he doesn’t move. Instead, he raises a hand and blindly finds the top of Erik’s hair before gently carding his fingers through the strands.

“Magneto...” he finally says aloud in an attempt to cement the reality with himself—and to also let Erik know that _he_ knows.

He feels Erik tense under his palm and has to smile at the thoughts possibly running through his mind. He pauses his movements but doesn’t remove his hand just yet.

“I knew you looked familiar,” Charles starts again, “I just didn’t think it would be from national television.”

Erik doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “you’ve called the authorities.” It isn’t exactly a question, more-so some acknowledgement of… resignation?

Charles wonders why. Certainly the man must be tired of running after two years, and because of Charles, he may have to move again. Or, he should, if Charles were anyone else.

“No, actually,” he admits. Charles sort of can’t believe himself in regards to it, but it’s a decision he’ll stick to regardless. By the noise he hears from Erik, he imagines the man can’t believe it either. “You’ve introduced yourself as Erik, my friend. Erik isn’t someone I’ve had the pleasure of recognising or knowing at all.”

Foolish. Naïve. He’s an idiot to cast himself as this so easily because from here Erik may want to silence him. For all he knows, Erik is poised to strike, and even before he may have just wanted a good fuck.

 _This is why you are where you are, Charles_.

Still, there’d been something quietly vulnerable in Erik’s words before. Sympathy for the devil, Charles thinks, but Erik had not seemed much of a devil last night. Careful, cautious, and a little _rough_ maybe, but not a devil.

Charles sits up when the silence continues, though not to badger the man for his answer. It’s a keen understanding Charles has always had with other people—romantically is an entirely _different_ matter—no matter how they present themselves, and so it’s with this that he decides to wait patiently for the other to absorb his view on this. His eyes trace the other’s spine before landing on the fists balled tightly around the ends of the sheets. Erik is shaking slightly and Charles hazards a guess it’s because of how unbelievable Charles is.

“You are naive to think that.” Well, that certainly didn’t take _too_ long. Nor does it take any longer for Erik to continue. “I am dangerous—a _criminal_. _How_ can you decide that?”

“Believe me, you are not the first person to call me naive,” Charles says wryly; he’s aware of the flaw, but it’s something he can shake off, not when he has so much room to _hope_ for everyone else around him. It’s what had made him so good at lecturing and tutoring, after all. “Or don’t believe me. It’s up to you, my friend, but know that I’ll reserve any opinions about you until I get to know you better.” A pause, then: “ah, _i-if_ I get to know you better.”

What an amateur slip. He’d stuttered like he was still young and in the first few years of his studies. _Embarrassing_.

Erik doesn’t seem to find it amusing.

“You must be lying,” he says flatly, and Charles mourns at the loss of contact as the man finally withdraws. He feels the bed dip before levelling as Erik slides off and stands; Charles averts his eyes respectfully from him as he dresses again and has to hold back his tongue to insist upon his earnest honesty.

Pathetic. _Pathetic_. To think he’d latch on so quickly to someone after—just after having _sex_ with them. Sure, Charles has fooled around with a few strangers in town but he hasn’t had the delight of meagre banter and pleasing sex and the comfort of a cuddle or two afterwards like he had with Erik. He really is too foolish. This is just like Columbia all over again.

Put-out, Charles has to hold his breath in order to hold back the strange lump of emotion welling in his throat. Another person deciding to walk out on him. Maybe Charles never was a keeper in the end.  It’s a dramatic line of thought considering he _literally_ just met Erik but the feeling of security he’d had hit far too close to home for him to retain proper composure.

Security. With Magneto. But then, this is Erik. Erik, who is now fully dressed and looking at him.

“Right,” Charles says quietly, “your apartment.”

 _Stupid_ , he berates himself, feeling more and more pathetic with each article of clothing he pulls on, _foolish. You get attached too easily. Too emotionally involved_.

Erik is still silent even when Charles moves past him to walk out the room. The door swings shut behind him, and Charles feels worse than ever.

* * *

He’s home in less than half an hour. Apparently Erik doesn’t live too far away from him and it’s both ironic and disheartening to think about.

He gets home and immediately goes for the liquor cabinet.

“Really now, Charles,” he says aloud to himself as he pours himself a cup of scotch, “you’re naive. You’re far too trusting and hopeful and horrendously blind when it comes to people. You think you know them and you’re too arrogant to think otherwise, and that’s why...”

That’s why Raven left him. A beautiful young mutant he accepted into his mansion, when they’d been children, that he thought he knew but really didn’t when she declared he never understood what she went through. He never did try to; he only thought his companionship was enough and he’d been a greedy thing, wanting friends and a family to be around him so bad that he’d latched onto her and tried to keep her when she wasn’t happy. He didn’t know she loved him, either, and he didn’t know how strongly she felt about mutant rights. He never could have guessed. He _should_ have, but he didn’t.

He’s an idiot.

And, oh, his mind is on the subject now, thoroughly. He tips back the scotch and sighs at the burn it leaves down his throat. It reminds him of the time he’d gotten drunk after being kicked from Columbia University. He trusted a colleague far too much. He trusted that they wouldn’t use him, that they were genuinely interested in his work, that they wouldn’t try to get him fired by framing his work as their own. He trusted _too_ much and it ruined his career.

Now he seems to be far too ready to set himself up for failure this time round. _Magneto_. Really. He should have seen this one coming, even if Erik seems to be a lovely person under all the stories the media have been shoving down everyone’s throats—

He shakes his head. That sort of thinking always has gotten him into trouble.

It’s only 9:58AM in the morning, and Charles decides to pour himself another shot.

“Well, old friend,” he says aloud to himself in the mirror adjacent on the wall; he looks horrible, “it looks like it’s going to be one of those days.”

* * *

The scotch doesn’t last long. The bottle itself hadn’t really been full in the first place.

At some point, Charles passes out. He wakes only to find that only five hours have passed and, hell, now is definitely the _appropriate_ time to be at a bar. Distantly, he gets washed and dressed and scoffs down an apple or two before making his way back to the same place he’d been the night before. Certainly not the best way to spend one’s weekend, but at least it’s a weekend. He can be work-ready when this slump is over and is far too busy to think about anything else.

He seats himself at the bar and orders a drink. It’s time to play a different game tonight.

Maybe what he thought he had with Erik had just been born from him experiencing something new. After all, Erik _had_ been his first male companion. There’s no reason to think that what he felt with the man was _just_ with him. Charles may prefer both genders and never thought about it before. He quite enjoys the ladies, they’re really quite lovely, and so he’s just enjoying to enjoy the men as well. That’s all. There’d been nothing special about Erik at all.

Maybe it’s wrong, but he decides to see if he’s right.

It takes a few tries, but Charles finds a young man—perhaps a few years older than him—with a lovely mouth and a bit of scruff who seems more than willing to spend the night with him. He’s polite and accepts the subtle offer Charles gives with grace.

“First time you’ve been sucked off by a guy before, love?” says the young man a few hours later when they’re within the thick of night and in a slightly clean alleyway. Probably not the _best_ place to have a random hook-up but Charles can roll with it. He’s ridiculously inebriated, after all, and rationality has fled him long before he ever got drunk today.

Charles lets out a sharp gasp when he feels the roughness of the other’s light beard brushing against sensitive skin; there’s no chance to complain about it before heat envelopes his cock once again. He rolls his hips forward, unable to help himself.

“No, _no_ —,” he breathes out a few minutes later when he’s able to _think_ because, dear God, this man has such a filthy _mouth_ on him. Certainly not able to rival the ladies he’s had in college years but _definitely_ one of the best jobs he’s gotten.

“Ahhh, one of those, then.” The man pauses to muse aloud, and Charles makes enough frustrated sounds for him to finally continue.

Another half hour later and they’re stumbling back to Charles’ apartment before finally fucking.

* * *

He wakes up alone the next morning.

* * *

Not _bad_. Not as good as Erik had been, but Charles tries not to compare the experiences. He hadn’t managed to replicate the same feeling, but it’s definitely different with each person, he knows this, especially when last night’s bed partner had been far rougher with Charles than Erik had been.

Huh. Maybe he should try this again.

* * *

The weekend after garnered different results. Charles got to be the one to stick his cock in someone else’s ass. It was an interesting experience, considering he could play with a different erogenous zone during intercourse, but definitely not the same as it had been with Erik.

Hmmm.

* * *

The third weekend, he finds himself thinking of Erik when he comes. _Not_ a good sign. At least not knowing his partner’s name this time helps with the embarrassment of calling out another’s upon completion.

He tries to forget about Erik, then realises he can’t. Not when he’s having sex just to feel the same thing he felt with Erik.

 _Really, Charles_.

* * *

He figures it’s because Erik had been the only one to stay the night after bedding him. He figures it’s because Erik had been the only one to invite Charles back to his own home. Maybe because of the whole cuddling thing as well. And maybe because Charles had been the one to wake up first to see Erik wake himself.

No one had stayed. None except Erik.

 _Until he kicked you out himself_ , a voice nastily whispers, but Charles ignores it because Erik didn’t ask him to leave.

 _But he didn’t ask you to stay, either. And it_ had _been his apartment_.

But Erik trusted Charles enough to tell him his real identity and even took him home. It’s something, right? It’s…

_Clearly, he doesn’t feel the same way._

* * *

On the fourth weekend, he’s taken outside the moment he makes the proposition.

 _Manhandled_ , more accurately, and Charles finds he likes it this way. He _prefers_ being pushed back, being taken and kissed first. He prefers fingers grasping loosely at his clothes before finding purchase under his shirt and caressing the skin found there. He knows, at least, that the one he’s with currently wants him.

 _Another naive thought_ , that cruel voice in the back of his head speaks, _because you’re just another hole to them and, to women, you’re just another cock._

Right. Well. That too. It’s good to know he’s _desirable_ , at least. Now he just has to figure out how to keep someone.

His current partner is decidedly annoyed with the distraction Charles must currently be projecting because hips push against his own, gyrating with a demand for attention and so Charles relents, a soft sound escaping his mouth before it’s claimed again. Hasty, this man seems to be, or maybe impatient, eager to get off. Males always were hornier than females.

Fingers grope along his hips and Charles manages to find his own grip upon the stranger’s shoulders, completely pliant against the ministrations on his body. This is a distraction in and of itself, and Charles is grateful for it. It’s hot and heady and even if his heart isn’t in it, his body certainly is, and it _feels_ good, physically, and so he’s thrusting back with a little less abandon than the one who’s currently kissing his face off wondering briefly in the back of his mind how long he’ll take to get off this time.

 Except that doesn’t happen.

It takes Charles a few seconds to realise he isn’t being made out with nor even _grinded_ against. The stranger is gone and, weirdly enough, Charles thinks someone else has pulled him off of him.

That someone else being Erik.

“You’re back!” _Ridiculous_ , it should be, to be smiling so much—and so drunkenly—at the sight of a familiar face and Charles is half convinced he’s hallucinating the sight and is instead still being kissed half to death in reality. As it is, the man spares him an exasperated glance and Charles’ gaze is dragged to the hand gripping the stranger’s shoulder.

“Off you go,” Erik says firmly, giving an obvious tight squeeze, “this one is spoken for.”

“ _Rrrude_ ,” slurs the stranger, though thankfully he doesn’t complain any further and instead makes the wise decision to back away and get out while he still can.

Which leaves just him and Erik alone.

“ _Marvelous_!” Charles exclaims happily. Later, he’ll question any higher power why he had to be a god-awful, childish and _joyful_ drunk around company, but right now he really doesn’t care. All that matters is that Erik is here and hasn’t left town like he thought he would. “It’s so wonderful to see you, Erik! I’m so glad you stayed. It’s good to have friends, isn’t it? If I am your friend, that is, but you’ll forgive me if I’m already so fond of you. You’re fascinating, to be quite honest, and it’s a shame th—“

“You didn’t call the authorities.” Erik’s voice cuts through the air with a blank calm. He’s staring straight at Charles and Charles’ drunk brain catches onto the slight bewilderment in his tone.

“Oh, why would I ever? Give a guy a good night of sex and he’s yours to do with as you want,” Charles says, speeding through his words, and accompanies them with a blinding smile. “I joke, of course. Why would I need to call someone to take you? You’re fine where you are. You haven’t hurt anyone from what I’ve seen—,” here he pauses and squints at Erik, “—you haven’t, have you?”

“Ah... you can count that man you were about to sleep with,” Erik says slowly but dryly. He’s clearly confused by the question. “I may have left bruises on his shoulder—“

“Mmm,” Charles hums, nodding sagely. “Then you were defending my honour. There _is_ good in you, after all. My _hero_.”

Erik stares at him. Then glances to the side as if searching for someone to share a ‘what the Hell’ look with. Apparently finding no one, he looks back at Charles and sighs.

“You’re drunk,” he says, though quietly as if to himself, “why am I trying to talk to a drunk man?”

“ _Better_ yet,” Charles interjects with a slight leer,” why aren’t you fucking him?”

“At least my first impression wasn’t so wrong.” Erik’s voice is mild after a small moment’s pause. “You’re quite eager to get around, aren’t you?”

“I’d be quite eager to get around _you_ ,” Charles counters. Who ever said rational thinking was real, anyway? Clearly his Neurology professor had been drunk himself. Like Charles right now. And, hm, the world is swaying slightly. Who said the world can sway like this?

Erik is there in front of him, suddenly, holding him by the shoulders, and the world doesn’t seem like it’s dangerously tilting anymore. No, it’s his _insides_ that are and a hiccup escaping his lips is the only warning he and Erik gets before he’s bending over and throwing up the remains in his stomach all over Erik’s shoes.

 _I just puked on Magneto’s shoes_ , is the wild thought that follows right afterwards, and Charles laughs so hard he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally my first time writing these guys' voices... i'll figure it out yaaas.
> 
> if you liked this please leave a comment or kudos!! it really inspires me like hella. thanks for reading!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating. Honestly.

When he wakes, he wants to go right back to sleep.

Not only is his head threatening to split open with the migraine currently assaulting it, he also has the _utter fortune_ to recall most of what had transpired the night before and, god, for a moment he almost swears he’ll never drink ever again. Instead, he’ll probably just avoid drinking around anyone else from now on. He can just enjoy a drink alone in the confines of his apartment with just a book to accompany his inebriated mind—

His apartment.

Eyes shooting open, he sits up immediately only to let out a sharp gasp as the movement agitates his head. Squinting, he manages to open his eyes to a manageable slit—even though the room is as dim as it can be with the sun shining weakly through shuttered blinds—before determining that he _definitely_ isn’t in his own apartment right now. No, this one looks largely familiar. _Very_ familiar.

“Remind me not to talk to you when you are drunk.”

And there’s the star of the night. Day. Fantastic. As if Charles needs more opportunities to embarrass himself any further in this man’s presence.

Erik looks proper and freshly washed. Perhaps now rid of the smell of vomit, Charles suspects, and has to wince at the reminder of his own lack of control the night before. How horrible.

“Believe me, you won’t have to again,” he rasps out. God, this throat hurts. This is the worst hangover yet.

He’s surprised when Erik moves over and passes him a glass of water and aspirin. It’s not something he expects considering last night’s treatment of the man, but accepts it gratefully nonetheless. He suspects he has to leave soon enough, and while a part of him wishes he can spend a little more time around Erik, he figures it may be best to just go. It seems Charles may just be trouble for the man, no matter how much he does want to get to know Erik.

“I cannot both apologize and thank you enough,” he starts. His throat doesn’t feel as dry anymore and he sets the glass aside. Erik’s eyes follow his movements expressionlessly, and Charles takes that as the obvious cue. “Really. If you have need of anything, please let me know. Otherwise, I... it’s your apartment. I should leave.”

It’s a little ironic that this time they’re both clothed when the last time they’d been here they were stark naked. It’s an interesting contrast, but one so insignificant Charles doesn’t dwell on it. This is the very last time he’ll spend in Erik’s room. It’s just a shame he isn’t sent off with any good memories.

He gets off the bed opposite Erik and grabs his coat that he’d spotted hanging on the closet doorknob. Nothing like a clean exit. Certainly not a clean entry, however.

Erik is still staring at him, not saying anything, and Charles figures that’s impatience in his gaze. Ashamed, he ducks his head and moves straight for the door. He’s going. Erik will forget about him now and be free of him, and Charles will just try to move on with his life and attempt to not get into any embarrassing drunk situations ever again.

“Wait.”

Charles freezes.

“I...” Erik starts uncertainly; Charles doesn’t turn to look at him, he can’t dare to hope that this is going to be something positive. “Even if you are... unpleasant when incredibly drunk, I would like to start getting to know you. Th-the real you, I mean. Every time we’ve... that is to say, if you’re... if you’d want to.”

Charles’ mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Closes once more. A million different things to say to that flits through his mind and _none of them_ , he realises, are really that appropriate. Or adequate. Or just. _Anything_ for this situation.

 _Amazing_. He’s actually completely dumbstruck in the face of an offer. This is a new one. Certainly not a moment to savour considering how much he’s floundering helplessly for words but he definitely won’t forget this.

“That’s-I—that sounds great! Amazing! I mean, spectacular!” He laughs and tries not to sound as awkwardly excited as he feels right now. There’re those butterflies in his stomach, trills of nervousness he hasn’t felt in such a long time because they only ever come when he’s uncertain. When it’s Magne— _Erik_ —he has more reason to be considering their bumpy start. Literally.

“Uh, so—dating, then?” God, he feels like a teenager again. How did he do this? It just feels like one agonizingly embarrassing word after another. The only consolation is Erik’s own slight mortification present on his features.

“Of course. Dating.” Erik nods, maybe a bit more frantically than is needed. Charles is half-hysterical at the realization. Then he actually _does_ feel hysterical at the sudden silence that follows afterwards.

Luckily Charles has a good talent for talking.

“Do you... fancy pizza?” Classic. Yes. Of course, Charles. _Pizza_. Like a hormonal tee—

“Pizza sounds lovely,” Erik says. Wow. That actually worked. It never seemed to work on the few ladies he’d offered it to and he’d had to play it off as a joke. Erik seems serious about the pizza, however. Erik carries on, “at... your place? Or mine?”

Charles tuts in his mind. An indecisive one, then. Or maybe just nervous. Hopefully that will change soon. “Yours, perhaps. My apartment is a rather huge mess at the moment.”

“All right.” Erik pauses, then, “what time shall we meet up?”

Charles pauses for a moment too. He can literally _feel_ the anxiety crawling up his skin. “Ah... well, I am rather famished. You’ve not had breakfast yet, have you? We should eat now.”

Smooth. Charles berates himself inwardly because, at the very least, he should have gone home to allow the both of them some time to dignify themselves before meeting up again. Apparently his mouth is faster than any sort of rational thought that can form in the face of genuine—albeit awkward—attraction.

Erik seems surprised by the abruptness but slowly nods all the same. Charles starts counting his blessings.

“Alright! Pizza it is!” Charles says with an enthusiasm he doesn’t entirely feel—dashed so _easily_ by how rocky this interaction feels—and reaches for the phone. He hazards a guess at what Erik may want—the man doesn’t seem to object outwardly either, instead opting to stare out the window, frustratingly enough—and deduces he has enough cash for the order. Placing it quickly—he suspects half of what he of what he said was missed considering how fast he spoke—, he sets down the phone again and wonders what to do now.

He looks down. Right. Still in Erik’s bed. He opens his mouth.

“So should I—,”

“You’re not—,”

Charles shuts up the same time Erik does and there’s that awkward silence again. He tries again.

“What were you—,”

“Please, go on—,”

They both shut up again and stare at each other. Erik seems bewildered and the expression looks so confusing and actually _adorable_ considering the situation that Charles starts to laugh and, if anything, that only furthers Erik’s frown and makes Charles laugh harder.

Slowly, Erik begins to smile and Charles only notices the low chuckles emitting from the man’s mouth when his own mirth finally dies down. Erik’s expression of amusement is quite lovely, Charles realizes as he eyes that too-wide grin and the creases around his eyes, and the beginnings of sweet affection start to grow in his mind.

“All I wished to ask was whether or not I should get out of your bed now,” Charles finally says with a smile. The awkward atmosphere has relaxed somewhat now and he feels his own easy charm come back. Erik himself deigns to finally sit down on the small couch by the bed, lounging in a more casual fashion.

“You _could_ ,” Erik drawls with a sexy, _sexy_ and lazy smile that sends those butterflies right up Charles’ throat again, “but I’d prefer if you stayed there. Maybe I can boast in future that I’ve managed to get a date in my bed before the date even happened.”

That forces a surprised laugh from Charles’ lips. Back to the flirting game, apparently.

“You make it sound as if you took me to bed _properly_ beforehand,” he says easily. If this leads to sex then he’s all for it. Nothing like a nice morning session. Or, rather, brunch session. They’ll just have to avoid making out; Charles doubts the taste of vomit is quite a turn-on. Maybe he should take a shower.

“But I _did_ , didn’t I?” Erik grins. It would have been a little terrifying if Charles hadn’t already thought it so nice to begin with. “ _Weeks_ before the first date. It must be a record.”

Charles tries to play off the slight discomfort in his stomach at the reminder. He’d been quite reckless in these past few weeks just because of this whole thing with Erik. It’s ridiculous, to be so enamoured, but he can’t help it. He stays silent for a few seconds longer than he intends before realizing Erik is staring at him with a failing grin.

Not willing to let his own mistakes interrupt this flow, Charles gives a dismissive wave with a coy smile. “Am I to believe that was your best attempt at charming someone to bed, then? I would have to give it a fairly average rating; you _did_ insult my use of pick-up lines which, I believe, worked.”

“Hmm, and what were those lines again? I remember being more attracted by the speaker than the words.”

 _Marvellous_. He really is sweet. Charles leans forward, a brow cocking up in curiosity. “That does not explain why you upheld your end of my deal, though.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Charles curses himself as he watches Erik’s easy-going smile vanish within an instant, replaced instead with a heavy frown. He briefly debates on whether to pursue the subject or to attempt to raise the mood again but Erik takes it out of his hands as he speaks again in a quiet tone.

“You truly aren’t afraid of me.” Disbelief shrouds his features and voice, and Charles lets out a small sigh. He supposes this matter would’ve come up eventually. It’s better to deal with it now, perhaps.

“From what I’ve seen so far, you’re not exactly someone I can be afraid of,” he says carefully, though he attempts a smile.

Erik has that bewildered expression upon his face again before he raises a brow sceptically and says with a painfully dry voice, “yes, it’s quite hard to be afraid of someone who is a globally known and feared terrorist.”

Charles winces at the reminder. This _is_ Magneto he’s speaking with, yet...

“Then it’s fortunate I’ve only seen Erik,” Charles says easily. Raven would call him a fool for being so careless about this, but then, maybe Raven would have liked Magneto. He’s surprised he hasn’t seen her running around with him at the time of Magneto’s public acts, his views would certainly charm her. As for Charles, he doesn’t particularly _have_ a say in the matter; it’s not as if he can understand it fully, even if he does abhor the thought of killing and intimidation.

Erik snorts at his words, leaning back with an even deeper frown; in his mind, Charles attempts to liken the man to what the media has portrayed Magneto as. It’s hard to connect the two, and he almost misses what the man says next. “You’d be surprised at what I can do even as Erik.”

Charles leans forward despite him, excitement rising at the reminder. Not so much the _terror_ that can be induced as a result of Erik’s gift, but moreso…

“Show me what you can do, then,” he whispers.

Erik balks at the request and, for a moment, Charles fears he may have offended him. It’s not often he gets to witness the powers mutants have, and Charles figures it’s because of the bigoted views towards them that they try to hide their talents so. It’s a shame, really, that their gifts have to be hidden rather than praised and admired for what they are, but its human nature. Charles can’t understand it, yet neither can he understand the mutant’s own perspective. Believing he had tried to and _did_ cost him Raven, and it’s not a failure he’s willing to repeat with another mutant that seems to want to know him. It makes him think he’s being some sort of traitor to his own kind, but surely there will be a point when they will all get along.

Even so, it’s a terrible edge he teeters, never knowing which way to fall; yet, Charles never belonged on either side anyway.

Erik doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches longer than what Charles is comfortable with allowing. He opens his mouth to say something, to take back his words, but the movement in the corner of his eye makes the words die in his throat.

A spoon, hilariously enough, but it’s metal and it’s twisting so elegantly in the air. It twines into itself and thins to form into many chains, linking to make a delicate chain necklace; not a second later and the metal ripples again, melts before forming a silver band lined with words Charles can’t make out. The penmanship is so neat and intricate that he can almost believe Erik handmade it—but then, with his powers, he certainly _has_ , hasn’t he?

“Amazing,” Charles says in a hushed tone. He can’t tear his eyes away from the display, far too enraptured in the realm of possibilities this has. “That’s—your mutation is _beautiful_ , Erik. I love it. It’s so… it’s far more than I ever imagined, than I ever even _researched_.” It’s hard to think of more ways to articulate his admiration and it’s even harder to tear his eyes away from the beauty happening before his very eyes. Only levitation now it seems, as the silver band gently turns in mid-air, but it’s just _amazing_.

Finally, _finally_ , he manages to look at Erik and Erik’s looking at _him_ instead of the very thing he’s controlling. Charles averts his gaze immediately in embarrassment at the sudden cross of eyes contact, but there was an expression he couldn’t identify upon the other male’s features. He doesn’t try to think any further upon it and he’s glad Erik finally clears his throat and speaks up.

“And yours, then?”

His? Charles looks at Erik again and almost turns away at the intensity in his eyes. It’s not _intimidating_ , or anything of the sort, moreso it’s as if Erik expects something out of Charles, something like…

Oh.

That old envy twists in his stomach again and Charles feels his cheeks flame in shame. It strikes him, what Erik is asking, and it’s like a dreadful blow to the stomach.

“I’m not—I’m not a—a mutant,” Charles says haltingly. Erik’s features turn unreadable, and Charles doesn’t want to look at him any longer as he talks. “By god, I _wish_ I was, though. You’re all fascinating—simply _amazing_.”

Erik stays silent for a moment longer. When he speaks again, Charles realizes there’s a slight edge of steel in his tone. “You said—you researched. You researched us, then?”

Charles tenses, unsure of where this is going. “Yes, I… I’m a genetics professor, actually. I—used to be one, I mean.” He doesn’t know whether he should even mention growing up with a mutant as well, though he doubts Erik will believe him on that.

Erik pauses. Charles chances a look and finds Erik not facing him. It gives him some measure of relief to not be under the right kind of scrutiny for he suspects if anything negative came out of it from Erik, Charles won’t live to see the next day, but even then that’s a dry thought. He doesn’t think Erik will murder him outright. Again, naïve to have such faith, but Charles truly doesn’t.

“You’ve not told me your name yet,” Erik finally says guardedly and Charles’ jaw drops.

“I—it isn’t on purpose!” Charles raises his hands in some sort of lame support for his verbal defence. God, he hadn’t even _thought_ about introducing himself. How rude of him, though of course, that doesn’t exactly hold a candle to Erik’s own introduction. “Besides, when we first met you were not terribly forward with your own identity!”

Erik has the decency to look a _tad_ bit ashamed for that before he narrows his eyes wholly on Charles. “Your name?” he prompts.

Charles sighs. “I suppose there’s no humour in saying my name is John Smith?”

“You’re stalling,” Erik says in exasperation before adding, with a very thin silver of amusement, “and that is a horrible fake identity. Be original.”

“Original like _yours_ , I presume,” Charles responds dryly, but he finally concedes. He really doesn’t have a point in dragging this out, but then, maybe Erik has somehow heard of his disgraced fall. All the same, he holds out his hand and Erik automatically reaches, shaking it.

“Charles Xavier,” he says with a small smile, “at your service.”

He expects a shrug, maybe a subject change, or maybe even some grimace that suggests Erik knows about his career screw-up. What he certainly doesn’t expect is Erik’s jaw dropping in pure surprise.

Well, it’s certainly a healthy expression of emotion he’s seen so far from Erik but Charles finds himself growing increasingly nervous the longer the stunned silence stretches on. He can’t read underneath the surprise, and so he waits—twitching yet patient—for any utterance from the man.

“Charles Xavier,” Erik finally says with a raised brow and a half grimace. Charles braces himself on what it may mean. “This is... it’s... I—I’ve heard about your work.”

Charles’ stomach sinks. “Of course.” He can’t help the gloomy underline to his words.

Erik straightens suddenly, as if he knows what he’s thinking. “I don’t believe what they’re saying about you, you know.”

“You don’t?” If Charles doesn’t know any better, he’ll say this is a rubbish parody of Erik’s own situation except reversed and, well alright, Charles didn’t actually do the things media has said about him. Still, the fact that Erik seems to know about it and doesn’t believe it is...

“I don’t,” Erik confirms, and there’s a hush present in his tone that makes Charles a little suspicious. It’s only when the faintest, _faintest_ hue of crimson paints his cheeks that Charles realises it.

“You—ah, you followed my work?” That’s really the only explanation he can think of and he tries not to notice the way Erik looks at him even when it makes that sweet affectionate feeling in the depths of his stomach light up like a pyre. “I did not think it would—that you would—well, that _anyone_ would recognize it. It’s been—it’s been a few months.” Even as he says that, he realizes that’s a weak argument. Who forgets anything after a few _months_? Charles hadn’t been exactly _shy_ with his works and genius, after all, and even Erik’s own globally known acts haven’t been forgotten over the past year.

_A ruined career doesn’t equal the importance of terrorism, Charles._

“I’ve—read here and there,” Erik finally says haltingly.  Charles suspects there’s more, and Erik only confirms it with the uncertain tone as he carries on. “When they said you had copied off another... it wasn’t believable. Your work was original, your research original. You had no need to copy off another.”

To simply put it, Charles is floored by the praise. He honestly hadn’t expected this from Magneto, of all people. But then, this isn’t him, is it? Not _really_ , if Charles were to be philosophical about it (which he can be, a hundred times over).

He opens his mouth to respond—with _what_ he’s not actually sure of—but there’s a sudden, distant knocking that throws him off. For a moment, he stares stupidly at the entrance to the bedroom—along with Erik, he suspects—before the other male is leaping up and immediately heading to answer the front door.

“I will pay,” Erik says briefly before ducking out of the bedroom quickly. Charles hears a subsequent crash—something heavy, like a book hitting the floor—and a curse muttered in German, that makes Charles smile immediately.

It’s a smile that falters half a second later, however, upon realizing that  they literally haven’t had their first _date_ yet and they’re already learning so much about one another, including physically. It’s a little disconcerting, to be so fast and forward in a relationship like this, but Charles can’t help but feel it’s still alright. They’ve both reached some sort of understanding like everything is completely okay, that they can be as fast or slow as they want to and it’s fine. At least, that’s what Charles believes. It won’t be the first time he’s wrong, however, and the paranoia about it files the question about it for later when they have the time to discuss it.

Erik comes back into the room with two boxes. Charles sits up, about to ask if he should get plates, but the other male waves him down as if he knows his intentions already. Charles feels rude still sitting in Erik’s bed, but he hasn’t kicked him out just yet, and Charles may selfishly want to stay a little while longer. It’s lucky for him that Erik doesn’t seem to entirely mind possible crumbs being left all over the duvet covers.

Charles watches Erik set the boxes down at the end of the bed and open them; he can’t help a sudden burst of nervousness because, god, it really _does_ feel like he’s a teenager again.

“I—did not want to assume,” he begins lamely, gesturing at the pizza when Erik casts him a questioning glance, “I’ve already heard about your origins, though I did not want to take any chance—.”

“You’ve assumed correctly,” Erik interrupts with that too-wide grin that actually soothes Charles this time. It helps brighten his mood a second later when he looks at the toppings again.

“You’ll love this second one,” he says with a beam, “this mix of parmesan topping and their own special caesar dressing is really quite marvellous.”

“Yeah?” Erik asks absently; Charles almost misses the look the man gives him, something warm and glad and fond, and feels his own heart swell in response.

Charles nods with a bit too much enthusiasm but, dear, he’s waited for far too long. He can _hear_ his stomach grumbling louder than normal and he scoots forward immediately on the bed—noting that Erik is still keeping his short distance by sitting on the couch instead again—to grab a slice. Teeth immediately chewing a large chunk off the end, he lets out a loud groan of pleasure he would’ve ordinarily blushed at if he weren’t so currently enamoured with getting his cravings satisfied so nicely.

Closing his eyes, he lets himself be lost in the bliss of good pizza for a good minute, and when he opens them again he finds Erik staring at him again, though this time, with a hungry gaze that has nothing to do with food.

“Really, now,” Charles admonishes with a grin; he knows exactly what he’s thinking, but he’s not entirely in the mood right now. Not when there’s food currently in front of him and he’s _starving_. “Erik, you’ll have to forgive me. Take a bite, won’t you? At least one craving will be satisfied for now. The other can... perhaps simmer for a bit and be indulged in later.”

Erik snorts but nods in agreement. “Indulged in _thoroughly_ , I expect?” he asks dryly with that smile that shows too much teeth.

“ _Very_ thoroughly,” Charles says; he lifts the pizza to his mouth again, nibbling at the crust end this time. “Now, however, I must thoroughly indulge myself with this heavenly slice.”

“A tease. Perhaps I’m not so lucky after all.” There’s an underline of jest in Erik’s tone as he finally reaches for a piece himself.

“Oh, darling, I’ll be sure to make every experience utterly amazing, so much so that you won’t mind me being a tease.” Placating, now, but Charles means it. Far be it from him to lower his services just because he is now entertaining a man instead of a lady and being on the receiving end instead.

Erik chews slowly. “Teasing is an interest of yours, then?”

“You don’t prefer your foreplay with a lot of teasing?”

“I tend to be straightforward with the whole process.”

“Then I’ll have to enlighten you then, won’t I?” It’s here Charles tries to give his best impression of the same too-many-teeth smile Erik tends to give him. It _seems_ to work, for Erik just stares at him with a twitching brow for several seconds, and he starts chuckling.

“I will hold you to that,” Erik says with an easy smile, and it’s another expression that induces that sweet affection again enough so that Charles lets out a tiny sigh of appreciation. God, he’s so _lucky_ to have met Erik and got along with him like this at all.

They eat in silence for a while, the sounds of swallows and gentle gnashing filling the air, and Charles looks down to see he’s dropped quite the assortment of crust crumbs and toppings. _Ghastly_ , honestly, completely rude of him and he decides within the next second to kick off the sheets and stand. Erik raises a brow at his sudden movements but waits for him to explain.

“Apologies, but I really _must_ have a plate,” he says, looking forlornly at his own mess. Erik follows his gaze before letting out a noise that sounds suspiciously like half a snort, half a burst of laughter. There’s that smile with too-much-teeth again. Charles wants to both kiss it and kick it at the same time.

“I had no idea you were a messy eater, Professor,” Erik says.

Charles has half a mind to respond to that with an innuendo, but decides against it when he realises how lame it’ll sound. Instead, he settles with a huff and a glare before turning towards the door and heading for the kitchen area.

He makes it two steps before stubbing his toe on the leg of a side table and he curses aloud. The sound is suspiciously familiar to what happened with Erik beforehand and the thought’s only confirmed when Erik says, “I suppose I should get that moved sometime soon.”

God, the bastard even _knows_. Charles debates kicking the side table to make a point but instead, deciding that maybe he has to make _some_ sort of dirty joke after all, bites out over his shoulder, “if you keep that up, you’ll be nursing a broken toe instead of my wondrous cock.”

Abruptly, he hears the sound of Erik choking—hopefully on his pizza—before finally carrying on to the cupboards.

* * *

Needless to say, the plate Charles acquires goes unused. Erik’s a little too busy finding out how wondrous his cock really is.

* * *

 

Charles doesn’t know what they are right now, exactly. Friends with benefits? Dating, but not exactly?

Sure, they even _said_ that was their first date but Charles feels as if everything’s mixed up now. Talking to and spending time in Erik’s company seems like second nature already but they’ve fucked already. He’s been in Erik’s house and woken up in his bed. If anything, they’re acting like they’ve been on _several_ dates and Charles is quickly growing bemused at the speed of their relationship. It feels as if with every second that passes in Erik’s company that he wishes to get out a megaphone and shout, ‘WHAT ARE WE’ into it. Which would be horrendous of him, of course.

Even then, he’s not sure on his own feelings, and so even with his nagging doubts and curiosity, he doesn’t wish to bring it up just yet. After all, what they have is nice, albeit in a strange way. They meet up at the same bar every weekend but they decide to sit down at a table to garner more privacy for their meetings. Erik is hilarious, in a subtle sort of way, and Charles finds himself smiling whenever he leaves the bar either by himself, or when furiously snogging the man.

It feels as if he’s back in his first few years of university. Terribly happy to get drunk, terribly happy to party all night if need be. He works at a bookstore, after all, so there’s really no need to fret on what hours he may take.

Erik though, Charles later learns, doesn’t like to share where he works. Charles hasn’t a mere inkling, and he’s not sure whether or not he _wishes_ to know what Erik does when he’s at the bookstore. Not to say that they both should be spending all their time together, but it does make Charles wonder what exactly it is Erik has been up to this past year after the things he’s pulled. If it’s something good? Great! Charles has no need to worry. If it’s something _bad_ , however...

“What do you do during the week?” Charles asks idly one day at a restaurant they’d spontaneously picked. It’s a change, so he figures there should be a change in the usual flow of conversation. He’s in the middle of reaching for a fry—not as hungry as he had thought himself to be when they’d ordered the platter—and Erik pauses in the midst of his own chewing as he processes the question. “Ah,” Charles coughs, attempting to clear his own discomfort and nerves, “I mean... where do you work?”

“I—I don’t,” Erik says hesitantly, “I don’t work.”

“You don’t?” Charles asks, deciding to risk it. “Then—?”

“I don’t,” Erik interrupts firmly, and that’s the end of that topic.

Well, Charles expected that. He hadn’t thought Erik to be the most open and honest person, considering his past, but that doesn’t deter his curiosity nor determination. He isn’t on some quest to see what exactly ‘Magneto’ may be up to, but more-so because he’s persistent. He wants to _know_ Erik, he wants to understand him. However, it’s hard to do that when the man doesn’t seem to want to co-operate.

 _It’ll take time_ , he tells himself patiently, and decides to flick a fry at the man.

Erik jerks back slightly when the piece hits his nose, and there’s a moment of pure silence as Charles stares at the bit of ketchup stuck to Erik’s skin. The male in question stares back at Charles, possibly questioning his sanity.

Maybe Charles _is_ a little insane, but he can’t help but start to laugh as he watches the slow-growing consternation on Erik’s face. Truly, the man is a wonder to look at, at times.

“Oh, you really are quite marvellous, aren’t you?” he breathes out with an embarrassingly loud chuckle. He reaches over and lets his thumb smear over the sauce, fully intending to wipe it off, but Erik leans a little to the left in automatic reaction and it’s spread quite hilariously now over the man’s cheekbone, enough so to prompt another hearty guffaw from Charles.

“... What are you doing?” Erik asks, bemused. His eyes rove over Charles’ face, and there’s something in them Charles can’t quite identify.

“Attempting to rectify my mistake, my dear,” Charles says soothingly, though a smile betrays his attempt at a relaxed countenance. He lets up on the joke, grabbing at a napkin to dab at the impromptu stain, but there’s a sudden movement from Erik and—

“Wh—hey!” Charles protests when fingers brush against his forehead and wetness immediately follows it. _Ugh_. Charles doesn’t need a mirror to know the same has been done to him. The corners of his lips curl down into an instinctive pout despite having been the instigator of this yet... despite his disgust at the muck on his face, he can’t help the smile returning when his gaze takes the man across from him in.

Erik’s snorting into his palm, shoulders shaking with the effort to conceal his mirth. There hasn’t been a shortage of this side of Erik since Charles has met him, but it’s nice to see him so... _free_ nonetheless. It’ll be good to always see him like this, Charles knows, and he’s determined to _help_ him there. It’s no secret where Magneto has come from—Charles certainly hasn’t been shy delving into whatever information he can find about the man as soon as his identity went public—and the thought of Erik’s past clenches painfully in Charles’ chest. It’s something that _no one_ should have to go through.

Erik seems to sense the change of mood in Charles, and he sobers easily enough. It’s dismaying to have caused and Charles opens his mouth to say something.

He’s interrupted, suddenly, when Erik reaches out and curves a finger under Charles’ chin with a thumb brushing just under his bottom lip.

“Are you alright, Charles?” he asks quietly. There’s such tenderness in his touch and gaze that Charles can’t even bring himself to answer. _This_... this is the man Erik is. Not Magneto, not any sort of terrorist the media slanders his name and persona as across the world and, god, Erik Lehnsherr is a _beautiful_ man. Not just in looks but in personality as well. How can anyone think this person to be a monster?

“Yes, I—,” he starts, yet is interrupted by a soft hiccup escaping his lips. He feels a lump in his throat and, before he knows it, there are a few tears welling in his eyes and starting to escape. “I am sorry, my friend. I just feel off today, that’s all.” He lifts a hand to wipe at the tears and Erik withdraws, regretfully enough.

It’s a little embarrassing, but Charles refuses to think himself wrong on his thoughts. Erik is a man, simply enough, and one who has so much potential to be whom he was meant to be and not be so chained back by his past. Perchance Charles is assuming far too much but, reading into Magneto’s actions, it’s hard not to think he can be right. A need to protect his own people because of his past experiences and simply blinded to the future of possibilities. Maybe Charles just has to help him see a different way of doing things.

“Perhaps it’s the fries,” Erik says finally, dryly, and he fetches the serviettes to gently wipe the sauce off Charles’ face before folding it over and ridding himself of the substance as well.

Charles watches each and every delicate sweep of Erik’s hand as he wipes his nose and, if his eyes linger longer on Erik’s face when it’s finally done, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Yes, of course,” he says with a slow-growing smile, “it’s the fries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO. i may have. accidentally diverged in plot from what i originally wanted so that's why there was a chapter before and it got deleted but nOW i know what i want from this story. that other... complicated plot can just.. be for something else omg.
> 
> i'm floored by the attention this has gotten so far though lkjfklj i honestly thought it wouldn't be good at all but thank you all so much for your support!! it truly means a lot!! especially since ive been out of practise lately and i know how bad the flow and pacing and sequences for this story is atm... rip klajsf.
> 
> p.s. i think i should also explain my views on human charles, mostly because he's sorta the same as in canon but at the same time he's not. he's more naiive here because he hasn't experienced the darker sides of people's minds-- he hasn't had that insight which contributes to his ridiculous hope and optimism (not that it's flagging as much in XMFC but i believe it'll become a bit more prominent in this fic).
> 
> another thing to note is that chalres is far more uncertain of himself in this fic than in canon. he's less confident because he hasn't got the added benefit of knowing what the people around him think. it's both a blessing and a curse because he hasn't had the opportunity to overcome his own insecurities (i believe) through other's own minds and so essentialy he's blind to what other people may think about him. another thing is that, since he grew up with mystique, he didn't have the same kindred feelings he has with her in canon. he understands her even less than he does in canon and it's a sore spot that just becomes a disaster. because of his interest in mystique and not knowing how to interact with other people, he doesn't know how to make friends, almost like canon, and thus easily becomes attached when he has the opportunity. he's even more estranged from people because of his powers and his awkwardness would have only driven people away more since he wouldn't have known how to react and read people when he needed to. i imagine the impression stuck as he grew up and so he gave up on trying to make friends with others and stuck with mystique which eventually leads to his interest in genetics and... yada...
> 
> i hope that made sense omg. but yeah thats a rough sketch of my own interpretaitons.
> 
> if you liked this chapter, dont forget to leave a kudos and/or comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chess is fantastic.

Erik’s a hard man to learn about, Charles notices. It’s not as if Charles is shy in asking questions but he’s staggered in asking them at all with the silence Erik tends to give him. Charles isn’t certain whether or not its because the man is nervous or just plain annoyed and chooses to ignore him in favour of giving an answer. Either way, it’s a trying process, but Charles is patient. He can only hope they’ll become closer in time. 

He’s surprised Erik stays around so much, actually. The on and off meetings become more regular—though Charles is beginning to notice a pattern with Erik’s random absences; he’s not entirely certain yet, however—and Charles is genuinely enjoying the man’s presence. However, there are times when there’s a silence that feels so awkward Charles babbles nonsensically just to fill it. 

Like now.  

“I suppose I shouldn’t be working in a place that has far too many tripping hazards,” Charles is saying now, dryly, at a loss of what else to say exactly; it’s nearing the end of his shift and it’s one of the first few times Erik has come in to pick him up. “Far be it for me to _add_ to it but there are times when I find myself dropping—dropping a few texts,” he finishes, a little lamely, upon noticing Erik doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, instead peering at the magazine stand. Which is alright! Charles just needs to ease them both into it, that’s all, even if it has been a few weeks. Charles hasn’t been much of a social butterfly himself besides the few excursions he has on the weekends. 

He smiles at Erik when eyes move back to watch him. Only a few books left to sort through, and Charles will be done. “Really now, Erik. You don’t have to wait up for me. I know it can be boring here...” 

Erik shrugs. It will be one of those days, Charles thinks mournfully, but he doesn’t mind too much. Instead, he moves about quicker, eager to rid himself of the day’s work for now.  

“The owner has already left. He and I and another are the only ones that work here. It’s a relaxing environment—far too relaxing, though.” Charles grimaces at the thought and picks up a thick book, peering at the spine. 

Erik finally speaks up as he puts it away, “and you prefer the stress of the university?” 

Ah, now _that_ Charles can wilfully perk up about. He straightens his back and turns to Erik, who’s clutching a magazine in one hand, and his own eyes widen as he feels himself positively _glow_ at the thought of his old work. “Yes, actually! It was enlightening to be surrounded by so many different minds. They give so much perspective to the work I gave and the presentations I made. It was—they were...” He falters as he thinks about it a little more. He misses it dreadfully. “It was wonderful,” he says quietly. 

Erik, when Charles glances, is frowning. Bored, perhaps, of the topic, and Charles opens his mouth to retract the gloominess but Erik is putting away the magazine and suddenly striding towards him. An arm curls around Charles’ waist and he’s suddenly pulled close to the man, hugged tightly by the one arm. Charles stiffens at first, but relaxes slowly into the grip, pressing his forehead into Erik’s shoulder. 

“ _You_ were wonderful,” Erik says firmly, “you _are_ wonderful. They just never saw it.” 

Charles swallows. There’s so much conviction in Erik’s tone that he’s floored by the thought of his support. It’s amazing, to be liked so much, and without much prompting, Charles feels a bright smile curving along his lips in appreciation of the gesture Erik’s given. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Charles says, beaming up at the man when he leans back. Erik looks at him with a small smile that brightens Charles’ mood ridiculously even more. 

“You did not deserve what you got, Charles,” he says softly and leans down to kiss him. 

Wonderful, really. Erik is perfect physically and a gentleman in personality. It’s flattering and humbling, and Charles smiles up into the kiss given. Light and sweet, and he withdraws after a few seconds of just feeling Erik’s lips with his own. 

“You’re rather fantastic, you know that?” Charles says breathlessly. Erik gives a smirk. 

“I am quite aware of that,” he replies easily, and Charles laughs, giving him a firm prod in the side. 

“Really now?” His smile feels far too wide but Charles is in a better mood now than before. “Give me a moment, will you, Erik? I’ve almost finished with this. Then I’ll lock up and we can go have dinner.” 

“Mm,” Erik hums in response, pressing a kiss to the side of Charles’ head and, oh, what a _dear_. 

Grinning, Charles eases himself from Erik’s hold and heads to another pile of haphazard books. Erik shadows him silently, maybe curious about his work, but Charles doesn’t mind a bit. It’s nice, having the man close. It’s not so—lonely.  

He doesn’t notice when Erik wanders off but he does when he hears his voice calling back to him.  

“Do you play?” 

Pausing in the middle of stacking a few, heavy tomes, Charles glances over. Erik’s further to the wall now, thumbing the length of a pawn piece. It’s picked up from one of the library’s chessboards, Charles realizes upon squinting, and he gives a nod. 

“I do, actually. It’s a habit of mine to challenge the regulars here, I figure it’s good exercise for the brain while I’m here.” He remembers being one of the few customers who’d been asked to play a game of chess by the owner. It’d an ease to the boredom and loneliness he’s felt the majority of the time then, and it’s still wonderful now. Of course, he has Erik now but it’s a lovely bit of competition to indulge in.  

Speaking of  competition... 

Looking over at Erik, he raises a brow. “Do _you_ play, Erik?” 

“I’ve enjoyed it many times,” Erik says with his wide smile. Charles almost clenches his fist in victory—finally he’s learned _something_ Erik likes without having to guess outright about it and enduring Erik’s uncertainty. 

“Shall we play a game?” he invites not a second later, and he’s pleased to see an answering nod. Immediately dropping the books he’s been sorting through, he makes his way over as Erik takes a seat. Perhaps far too eagerly, he moves into the one opposite Erik, automatically moving haphazard pieces to their starting places. His hand lingers on the white queen as his gaze flicks up to Erik. “Black?” 

Erik nods graciously and Charles puts the queen on his side. Then, from there, their game starts. 

It’s another silence they settle into, though entirely different from the quiet than before. _Before_ , Charles had been nervous, unable to think of anything to fill the gap except his own voice and Erik’s accompanied half-nods but here... _now_ , this is far more comfortable. The silence is companionable, something understood by both of them to be had in order to think, and Charles quite dearly loves it.  

Yet apparently, with his mind occupied with chess, Erik himself becomes more talkative. 

“So, what brings you to Canada in the first place, Charles?” Erik moves forward his knight. 

Charles thinks for a scant few seconds before sliding forth his pawn. “It is not an exciting story, I’m afraid to say.” 

Immediately, the bishop moves to take it. “Tell me anyway.” 

“Truly,” Charles insists dryly, absentmindedly taking the sudden bishop with a rook. “There weren’t many places I could go to escape myself in America, Erik. I’ve travelled far too wide to be able to. So I lent my sister my mansion for her...” _Her new family of mutants_ , Charles almost says, but he figures that will be too dreary and horribly envious to hear, and so he changes course. “I lent my sister my mansion and left.” 

“You... lent her a mansion?” Erik says with a touch of incredulity in his tone. Well, it isn’t as if Charles had been trying to glamour it up. He moves his queen diagonally. “Your mansion, to be specific?” 

“That is correct.” 

“You make it sound as if she were not included in the will.” Cautious, Erik’s words sound, just like the tentative move Charles makes with another pawn.  

“Oh, I doubt a young woman who’d been adopted spontaneously into the household as a child by the owner’s son will be legally seen as an heir.” Not fair of him to say it, but it’s information he’s half-wary himself on giving out. Erik places his queen squarely in front of his pawn. 

“Adopted? Your sister must be very dear to you, then.” Erik’s voice holds some warmth in it. Some. Charles doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“She is,” Charles says, and he hates the way his voice has grown quiet. He quickly moves his king away. “Unfortunately, I doubt she feels the same way about me. The mansion was merely a make-up gift of mine before I left. I have little hope she’s forgiven me by now.” 

“I don’t doubt that she already has, Charles.” Erik’s voice has grown just as quiet in contemplation. He moves his knight. “You’re not quite as horrible as you think you are. And check.” 

Charles sighs, both at the words Erik has said and the position he’s put himself in on the board. He wonders how Erik manages to strategize while engaging with him, though perhaps Charles is far too enamoured with the memories playing in his head at the moment. A hand hovers over his king, before he switches tactics and moves his queen. 

Erik tuts and he pushes his knight to take the queen. “Your strongest piece on the board, Charles,” he says with a teasing disapproval, picking up the chess piece and putting it to the side. 

“Maybe,” Charles admits, but he takes a moment to consider the board. Hit by a surge of inspiration, he moves his king forward and takes the knight. “Checkmate,” he says smugly. 

“No,” Erik says with a growing frown. Then he pauses, and looks too. “Yes,” he sighs in defeat. 

“I have to admit, I did not expect that.” Not when he’s been too far distracted with his own thoughts. It seems a fluke, enough so that Charles wants to have another game so as to win off his own strategizing. 

“I expected to win,” Erik says but gives a soft chuckle. “At least I took your queen.” 

“A small victory, my friend.” 

“But a victory enough, _ja_?” 

Charles rolls his eyes—thought with a smile edging upon his lips—and opens his mouth to respond but a loud noise interrupts. He looks down, feeling a flush enter his neck and cheeks. His stomach. Grumbling. 

“A rematch will have to come later, then,” Erik says, his words sounding like a lament. It gives Charles some warmth: at the very least, he isn’t the only one who has entertained the notion of going again. “Your belly may distract you,” comes the tease a second later, and Charles gives a swat at Erik’s shoulder. 

“Let’s go then,” Charles grumbles, “whether or not _we’re_ distracted, I’ll beat you in our next match.” 

“I very much doubt that,” Erik says, and he smiles very widely.

* * *

 

God, what did he do to deserve this man? 

“Y-you’re r-r— _ah_ —ridiculousss—!” Charles’ words dissolve on a moan as Erik starts to nudge insistently at that small bundle of nerves that sets his world alight. He’s already writhing, and he’s hard-pressed to just knock over the chess board in an effort to spur Erik to get on with it already but he’s relentless, merely circling his finger and all Charles can do is whine and shove his hips back in an effort to get some friction. 

“Really?” Erik’s words are amused yet incredibly low and husky and sexy. He’s pressing his length into Charles’ side and, god, he can _tell_ how hard Erik is from this and yet the man isn’t doing a damn thing to relieve himself. How selfish, how incredibly— 

“Ah! Oh, god, oh, _Erik_ —,” Charles gasps when two fingers are unexpectedly added. Head hanging down, he can only shudder and gape soundlessly as they work into him fast. “Oh, ah, Erik, _please_ , Erik—,” he’s nearly drooling with his begging, throwing his head back as he can only ache for something bigger. This _certainly_ was not the distraction he’d been expecting when Erik insisted they bring the chessboard back to Erik’s place and while it’s a pleasant distraction, maybe, possibly, it’s far too difficult to continue the game at _all_ when he’s aiming for something _else_ to happen. 

God, they’d hardly been three moves in when Erik pulled this on him. Kissing. So much kissing with haphazard moves made before Charles lost the pants and the lube was _right there_ and, well. 

Now, Erik unexpectedly pulls him onto his lap and Charles keens from the increased pressure and yet another finger added. Charles writhes, hips jerking when those fingers crook and still in him, and he’s hard-pressed not to elbow back at Erik to make him move. Just when he’s seriously considering it, there’s a noise breathed into the shell of his ear. 

“… Muh?” Charles asks intelligibly, breath hitching. 

“I said, ‘it’s your turn’, Charles.” 

God. They’re still playing this chess game. As if Charles has any patience left for it. 

“Sod the game,” Charles hisses, leaning around to bite viciously at Erik’s neck. That earns him a stifled gasp. 

Apparently, though, that still isn’t enough to spur Erik on to fuck him. “I thought you were going to beat me whether or not you were distracted?” The god-awful-but-amazing-man murmurs. The tone sends a shiver down Charles’ spine and, oh, how he loves and hates it.  

Still, though, if it’d a matter of pride or pleasure, Charles is leaning towards pleasure. He never said he was selfless. 

He opens his mouth to tell Erik off, yet all that comes out is a half growl, half whine that would’ve had him flushing red for about an hour or so if he’d been in a mood that wasn’t as needy as this one. 

“Really?” Charles feels rather than sees Erik’s head nod in amusement. “That isn’t what you were preaching just hours before now, Charles.” 

“I don’t care just _fuck_ _me_ —,” Charles bites out and, elegantly of course, his nails dig into Erik’s back despite the leather still adorning the others torso. 

Erik makes a low noise, then. Charles doesn’t know what sets him off but something does and suddenly the chessboard is flying off the table and _they’re_ on the table and Charles is suddenly overwhelmed with a lot of sensation and it’s delicious, it’s _amazing_ — 

“I believe I won,” Erik says plainly, a few hours later, when they’re both on the floor and only just starting to get their minds back. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Charles says roughly five minutes later, because he was always slower to get down from the high to articulate the way he wants. 

Erik doesn’t seem to remember, funnily enough. “What was that?” 

“You. Winning. By distracting me.” At the very least, Charles manages to pretend he’s frustrated with the man. 

He can almost hear the smug smile in Erik’s tone. “All’s fair in love and war, is that not the saying?” 

“It _is_ ,” Charles says, “but I’d expect to be the exception to the rule.” 

Something flickers in Erik’s face then—something unfamiliar and strange and _uncertain_ —before Erik is slowly nodding, and Charles has no idea what to make of the weird lilt that smile has taken. 

“You already are an exception,” is all Erik gives before he’s pulling Charles in for a kiss. 

Soft, tender. Erik is so very _lovely_ when he wants to be. All Charles can do is smile into the firmness of the other’s lips and pretend that this will last.

* * *

 

In hindsight, Charles should’ve pushed harder about what Erik does in his free time and when Charles is working.  

It’s only recently he’s been realizing a pattern, especially when it’s becoming a common occurrence to see the man for on and off date nights and date lunches and date midnight runs, of Erik tending to not be available for a few days straight every couple of weeks. There’s a suspicion, of course, as to what he’s up to but, at the same time, Charles has always brushed it off to the eccentricity of being previously active in fighting for a huge cause. 

Except, apparently, ‘Magneto’ is still active. 

Honestly, it’s bemusing to have assumed so much about Erik and to trust that he wasn’t doing anything dangerous even if it’s not getting shoved in his face by the media. It gets horrifying when he’s confronted with the situation quite clearly the moment Charles decides to visit Erik’s apartment in the early hours of the morning. 

Really, now, Charles expects the man to be _inside_ his own apartment, for one thing. After all, it’s almost four o’clock in the morning—let’s speak nothing of Charles’ own decision to be so spontaneously early—and yet… 

Gasping greets Charles’ ears. The clear sound of uneven steps behind him and something that sounds suspiciously like liquid dripping to the floor and Charles’ muscles freeze up so tightly in that small window of realization and fear that he may certainly _die_ by some drug-crazed person or maybe some serial killer or maybe— 

He turns, slowly, and collapses back against the apartment door when he’s confronted with the sight of a bloodied Erik. 

Fear grips his heart, nothing like he’s ever felt _before_ , because this is someone he cares about swaying dangerously in front of him looking like he’s on the edge of bloody _death_ in the dim hallway light and for a moment, Charles can’t bring himself to do anything out of shock. He’s shaking, he realizes, and he has no clue how to handle this, no clue on what the hell _Erik_ is thinking and, for god’s sake, shouldn’t Erik be at a _hospital_ instead?!  

Charles steps forward and watches Erik’s eyes blearily focus on his own. _Half delirious with pain_ , Charles thinks on the edge of hysteria, but he manages to gather his wits about him enough to lurch forward and steady Erik by throwing an arm over his own shoulder. 

“ _What the hell are you thinking_?!” he hisses, barely keeping himself from screaming in terror when blood starts to seep into his shirt—he really liked the lilac colour, damn it—, and he reaches over blindly to fish in Erik’s pockets until he locates a key. 

“No… hospital…” Erik rasps out. Wonderful. 

“You want to do this the hard way, then?!” Charles would have shoved Erik to the ground if not for the fear curling chillingly around his heart. He doesn’t know how bad Erik’s condition is and he makes a small noise when Erik leans more of his weight on him. “ _God_ , Erik, hold on,” he says helplessly, and scrabbles to find the right key to open the lock. 

He manages to kick the door open—really, the _racket_ the neighbours must be hearing right now—and drags Erik inside. Staggering under the duress, he heads slowly towards the couch before gently depositing the man down. He takes a few reeling steps back to assess to the situation before realizing that, _duh_ , he has to take a closer look to see what _exactly_ is wrong and, god, there’s so much blood. It’s dripped on the floor and it’s all over Erik’s side and— 

“What do I do?” Charles asks helplessly. Erik’s head is already lolling and Charles isn’t sure at what point exactly the man passed out but he _did_ pass out and now Charles has no one to ask for help on what to do because he has a bloody degree in _genetics_ , not in _medicine_. Honestly, he has half a mind to just call the ambulance because there is _no way_ Charles is equipped enough to deal with this sort of thing with barely little experience and _no first aid kit_ — 

“Under… the sink…” Erik rouses long enough to slur that out before going under again. Charles wants to punch him. Then again, he doesn’t condone violence. He still wants to punch him, though, but also kiss him until he’s better again which, of course, is his _very prominent lack_ of doctorate talking along with the need to keep Erik alive. But, wait, Erik said under the sink so— 

He gets up immediately—almost trips over a few bottles that Erik seems to have left lying around haphazardly—and heads to the kitchen to look under the sink. He’s shaking, he notices, as he reaches for the lone box by the pipes. 

“Normal reaction,” he says to himself aloud, attempting to find some silver of calm in the midst of the panic that’s reclaimed him. “That’s a completely normal reaction to what you are now experiencing, Charles. Erik Lehnsherr is bleeding out on his own sofa and he is a very big, bloody idiot that does not know how to take care of himself so now _you_ have to do it so, please, get your act together, Charles, otherwise you will have a man die on your watch tonight—,” he pauses, unable to continue any further at the very thought of letting Erik down. 

“Get a grip,” Charles mutters to himself. He looks at Erik, and thinks he sees the barest smile form on the man’s lips. God, if he is _laughing at Charles_ for talking to himself during this highly stressful situation, Charles may actually punch him. No, actually, if they make it through this, Charles vows to punch him. Erik will deserve it, he definitely will, the bastard— 

God, he hopes Erik will be alright. He certainly doesn’t look it, but… Charles sighs, and leans in close. Time to get a better look at what he’s dealing with. 

It’s _gory_ at first sight. It’s bloody and horrible and Charles feels bile at the back of his throat amassing. He’s not sure he can do this, but Erik’s growing far paler by the second and he shoves back the nausea in an attempt to focus. Right. A light will help. He gets up to quickly turn it on and, briefly blinded, he’s not prepared to see Erik clearly for the first time tonight. 

The man looks like an utter _mess_. The pants are shredded on the right side, revealing a gashed thigh, spattered and stained by blood; in contrast, above waist is far worse. Erik’s beloved turtleneck—for god’s sake, Charles never imagined it becoming ripped off in this way, not even in his dirtier fantasies of getting to Erik’s neck—is in tatters, barely covering Erik’s side where a few lacerations are barely visible through the mess of blood. Charles doesn’t know how deep they are—he doesn’t know if he _wants_ to—but he tries desperately to recall any first aid lessons he’s been taught.  

“Okay then, Erik,” he whispers, incredibly cognizant of how long he’s been hovering uncertainly over the injured man, and opens the box he’s recovered. He takes another lengthy look at Erik’s injuries before looking down at the first aid kit to discover that it. Isn’t. A. First aid kit. 

“What in the bloody hell is this?!” Charles says loudly and incredulously. All that’s present is a bottle of antiseptic and thin, metal wiring. Maybe he got the wrong box. Then again, there’s a bottle clearly marked for injuries even though the wiring doesn’t make s— 

“Oh, my god,” he hisses and stares straight back at Erik. The man seems to be in and out of it, of sorts, but his head is tilted towards Charles even if his eyes are drooping shut. “If you don’t have a first aid kit, how do you expect humans to treat you?! How do you expect _anyone_ to treat you?!” 

Actually, he can guess the answer. Erik doesn’t allow it, most likely, and the thought makes his annoyance flare to a brimming anger despite the panic and worry still lingering at the edges. He is going to punch this man when he is better. He is going to punch him and he is going to— 

Alright. Focus. Get some towels and then dip them in the alcohol and disinfect the wound.  

Charles looks around and gets up upon spotting a towel hanging off the end of Erik’s couch. It _seems_ mostly clean but Charles doesn’t want to waste more time finding another one. He’s already spent almost ten minutes gawking and being angry at Erik and it seems to have already cost him. Erik’s looking deathly pale now and the previous, bone-chilling fear tightens around his heart again. 

Wetting the cloth at the sink, he applies the antiseptic to it, and gingerly presses it against the first of the many wounds Erik has. 

The result is instantaneous.  Erik jerks minutely at the pain, eyes flying open and unseeing, and Charles thinks he can hear almost everything that’s metal in the apartment start to vibrate. It’s a little terrifying, but Charles doesn’t think the other will harm him. Grimly, he sets about his task quicker, clearing away the blood with shaky, methodical briskness.  

“It’s going to be okay, Erik. I’m here, you’re not alone,” he says quietly, soothingly. For all his anger, he doesn’t want this to be any more painful for Erik than it has to be. He reaches over with his free hand and intertwines his fingers with Erik’s. Slowly, the other man stills and the ominous vibrating settles. Charles feels responding phalanges to his own and squeezes them. 

It seems like the lacerations on Erik’s chest doesn’t seem _too_ bad. Perhaps it’s one of those wounds where it looks worse than it is. Charles doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a doctorate, which is a fact he’s getting keenly reminded of with each swipe of the towel. Twice, he has to wash the thing of blood, and by then Erik seems to have calmed somewhat despite the press of alcohol against his open injuries. At some point, Erik seems to have dozed off—at least, Charles _hopes_ it’s just a doze; he doesn’t know whether he was supposed to keep the man awake or not—but by then, Charles has finished with his handiwork. He’d had to cut away Erik’s shredded clothes, leaving only his boxes, but he figures Erik isn’t going to be shy about the lack of decency considering their on and off nights. 

Right. The cleaning is done. Now he just has to... oh, god. He thought the alcohol would have been the hard part. Now he has to... _stitch_. It’s going to be messy, he _knows_ it, but he has to do it otherwise Erik’s condition may get worse. 

Holding his breath, he squeezes Erik’s hand again and sets down the towel. Reaching out with his free hand, he rests it upon Erik’s should and gently shakes him. 

“Come on,” he calls, “Erik, wake up. You have to let me know if you have any needles—,” 

“N-no need,” Erik suddenly groans out. Startled, Charles freezes, but true to Erik’s word he needn’t have done anything else. Erik’s other hand raises and, with the motion, the thin wiring in the box rises. 

“Really?” Charles asks, feeling vaguely sick. 

“Yes,” Erik drawls, “if you’re squeamish...” 

“I’m not leaving,” Charles responds immediately, leaning forward as the wiring approaches the first of the wounds. “I’ll just—I’ll look away. And I won’t be sick, if that’s what you’re thinking! If I—if I see it, I mean.” 

Erik looks at him with the smallest smile. “I wasn’t going to ask you if you needed to leave.” 

Charles feels a small flush gather up his neck. “ _Chivalrous_ ,” he says, annoyed. 

“Charles,” Erik says plaintively. 

“What?” He considers leaving anyways if Erik is going to be so rude about things. He almost misses how the wiring starts to dig into Erik’s flesh. 

“Come a little closer, won’t you, _Liebling_?” 

The German throws Charles off for a moment. He casts his mind back quickly and recalls the term of endearment in English. That’s—that’s nice. He can... he likes that. He wonders if this is just a one-time thing, however, but he figures that isn’t exactly number one on the list of priorities right now. 

Sighing, Charles leans forward, mindful of the self-stitching Erik is doing on the side (and, really, he shouldn’t be feeling impressed at the show of power).  

“Well, you have me here,” Charles says, closer to Erik now, enough so that he can make out the individual stubble. _He hasn’t shaved in a_ _few days, then_ , Charles thinks vaguely. Maybe that’s a clue as to what Erik has been doing exactly.  

Erik looks at him for a few moments, long enough for Charles to start feeling annoyed again, then suddenly leans forward and kisses him. 

It’s _nice_ , at first, before Charles realises what exactly they’re doing and how they got there. He jerks back immediately, cutting off the contact before it can delve into anything heavier which, honestly, seems to have been a possibility considering the tongue Charles felt swiping at his bottom lip before he ripped away. 

“ _Really_?” Charles asks in a—hopefully—plainly unimpressed tone. 

“Huh?” Erik responds in a rather dumbfounded way. 

“Snogging while you’re _currently stitching yourself_ is a bit of a turn-off, Erik.” 

“But I’ve already finished, dear,” Erik says with a smile that makes Charles reiterate mentally to himself to punch him later. Then he looks down and realizes Erik _has_ finished. That was fast.  

“That doesn’t get you off the hook,” Charles says, scowling. 

Erik looks more confused. “What hook?” 

God, it should be impossible for the man to look utterly amazing and adorable and marvellous after pissing Charles off, but Erik does and Charles has to live with the consequences of being attracted to such an insufferable person. 

“Nevermind,” Charles groans, and lets go of Erik’s hand to go into the bedroom. He grabs a pillow and goes back to Erik. “Lift your head,” he says and Erik frowns before doing what he says. Stuffing it under his head, Charles gently pushes Erik back and sideways until he’s partially laying down on the couch. As much as Charles doesn’t want to aggravate Erik’s injuries, he feels a little satisfaction at hearing the other give a small hiss of pain.  

“Charles—?” Erik begins to ask, looking smaller and weaker when he’s laying down, and Charles feels his heart clench as he waves a hand to stop him from talking. 

He leans forward and presses a kiss to Erik’s forehead instead. “Get some sleep, you need it. I’ll be cross with you tomorrow.” He barely refrains from calling Erik ‘love’. He remembers what Erik called him. Darling. He’s not sure why he’s said it, but he figures it was for some mocking reason, or perchance the man really was delirious from his injuries than he looked. 

 _Really,_ _Charles_ _. You toss the word ‘love’ around with strangers but when it comes to someone you care about, you can hardly say it_. 

Erik smiles up at him, and Charles feels his own heart weep with something akin to love. Or maybe it is love. _God_. 

“Goodnight, Liebling,” Erik murmurs and, really, _just_ as Charles is contemplating that whole thing. 

He swallows and lets a hand gently caress the side of Erik’s cheek. A little sweaty from exertion, perhaps, but the feel of his stubble is somehow soothing.  

“Goodnight,” he whispers as Erik’s eyes slide shut. 

He’s so screwed.

* * *

 

Erik is rather lovely. No, Erik is incredibly lovely. He has a lovely personality, and lovely looks. Charles isn’t _in_ love with him, of course. He’s just—Erik is merely ridiculously charming, so much so that he’s sure anyone that talks with him is immediately enraptured with his intriguing words.  

Which is... well, Charles already  knows that’s all complete bollicks. Not the things about Erik, but about himself. God, within a night he’d been drawn to Erik, and within a few weeks he’s already falling hard for the man. It’s hard not to—Raven has always told him he’s loved too easily, that he’s far too trusting with his heart. _You’ll get yourself hurt_ , she’s reprimanded thousands of times and, what a dear to look out for him, but he’s never listened. He never thought he _could_ listen because he always knew how he worked.  

It wasn’t hard to self-criticize and build off of that self-given advice. He aimed to become the perfect person, if only to not scare away any potential friend that may come his way. Apparently, that wasn’t exactly the best approach, given how he was told first-hand how absurdly posh and snobbish he came across as instead. Raven had laughed, then, when he told her about it. She never understood, just like how he never understood her. 

Lovers afterwards... as amazing, and few, as they all were, Charles’ intensity was a bit too much for them, he imagines. Complimenting them so much genuinely made them feel like he was being fake. Expressing his feelings made them think he was pushing them to go faster. It was never a hit or miss. It was always a miss. 

Until Erik. 

Now, he settles himself on a dining table chair across from where Erik lays, cocooned in the blissful world of sleep. Erik had said he’d be fine just like that, upon waking up briefly to a fretting Charles, but the words had done nothing to sooth Charles’ nerves even as the man sunk back into a seemingly peaceful sleep. Since _neither of them_ have a doctorate, Charles opted to watch over Erik as he recovered. It meant no sleeping but, with the recent self-discoveries, Charles doesn’t think he’d find it possible to sleep. 

Still, Erik seems fine. Charles is poised to call the ambulance, yet as the hours crawl by, he’s feeling less and less inclined to hold onto the phone.  

Ridiculous, really, Erik is. Charles wonders exactly what the man has gotten up to receive those types of injuries. Of course, it must be to do with his doings as Magneto for what else would Erik occupy his time with? Perchance something to help mutant rights and that’s fine. That’s completely fine. Charles just—he just doesn’t want Erik to completely devote his life to it. He wants him to find _some_ kind of happiness instead of being driven by his clear hatred and desired extermination of the human race.  

Ugh. The thought has never really left Charles. He’s a human, and yet Erik is still with him. Erik’s decided to... 

His mind travels to an undesirable outcome, and that well of nothing in his belly decides to grow larger than ever. 

“Charl...?” comes a sudden murmur from the couch, and Charles can only stare blankly at the gently rousing Erik. 

He’s not thinking clearly, he knows, perhaps as a result of the late night and stressful preceding events, but Charles can’t help but quietly speak his thoughts. 

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” 

Erik’s eyes flutter, bleary from sleep, and they focus briefly on Charles. “...Hm?” is all Erik can seem to muster in response. 

Really, though, Charles can guess the answer. “Of course you are,” he says softly and with certainty. He’s not angry. It’s just a simple realization about the man everyone knows as Magneto. They all seem to think he’s merely a terrorist but, really, Erik is someone who believes in his cause more than any other. It’s not a shameful thing to have, merely something that one should aspire to.  

Of course, it isn’t as if Erik is doing things in the _right_ way. His means to the end is more than what the public can bear, what _anyone_ can bear, and yet it’s the only means he’ll take. 

Charles sighs when Erik’s eyes slip closed again. More than likely, he’ll not remember what he said in the morning. That’s alright. He’s starting to understand how Erik works, even if he is just barely scarping the top of the iceberg. 

He gets off his chair and kneels instead on the floor beside Erik’s head. A hand lifts and, gently, the pad of Charles’ thumb makes it’s way ‘cross the cheekbone, down and along the length of Erik’s jaw, feeling the stubble; it stops, just barely, on the edge of Erik’s lips before tracing neatly just under Erik’s lower one. 

Throughout all this, Charles cannot stop staring. 

“That’s alright,” he whispers, sure in his own feelings, “I’ll be here for you anyway.” He doesn’t want to voice the unspoken, scary thoughts, lest they become a reality far sooner than he knows they will be. 

 _Even if you leave me_.

* * *

 

There’s a moment of pure confusion, when Charles wakes up, where he believes Erik has left him. 

He’d fallen asleep on the floor, Charles remembers. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open, had only been able to check Erik’s breathing before settling down right beside the couch—because, really, how incredibly reckless would it have been of Charles to just leave the man when he’s injured—and slipping right into slumber the moment the closed his eyes. He’d meant to wake up a little earlier to check again on Erik, but it seems he’s slept the early morning away. 

And, it seems, he’s been moved.  

He’s _on_ the couch now, where Erik had been, and it still retains his vague scent. Charles feels comfortable—there’s even a blanket on him, which is a bonus. Erik must have woken before him and lifted him here before... before...? 

Charles sits up abruptly, mentally shaking the grogginess from his systems. What a stupid man, to be wandering around when he’s injured as he is. Charles ought to growl him when he finds him, he— 

“Good morning, Charles.” 

And there Erik is, standing by the countertop in the kitchen section, sipping at a cup of coffee. 

Charles gapes, and Erik’s lips slowly curve into that smug smile. What a bastard, what a little— 

“ _Erik_ ,” he attempts to growl, but instead it comes out relieved and shudderingly _happy_. He still wants to punch the man—or does he? Maybe? God, Erik looks so _amazing_ like that, mostly fresh and healthy with some bed hair with that irresistible mouth. Charles will hate to ruin it, really.  

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers instead and, no, he is _not_ crying. He is _not_ — 

“Oh, Charles,” Erik says quietly and he’s putting down the mug and taking a few steps towards him. Charles hardly has time to react as Erik envelopes him in a careful but tight embrace, nose nuzzling into the side of his neck and Charles inhales sharply before admitting that, yes, _maybe_ he is crying. Slowly, he wraps his own arms around Erik’s frame, just _feeling_ that he’s alive and breathing and well, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Thank you, _Liebling_ ,” Erik murmurs into his ear and, that’s a pleasant surprise, Erik seems to be keeping the endearment. It’s nice. It’s heart-warming. Charles feels a smile slowly come to his lips before, abruptly, he leans back and smacks Erik on the shoulder. 

“You’re rather horrendous, you know that?” Charles says, sniffing quite loudly, and he tries and fails to frown at the man. 

Erik leans back as well, a brow raised in slow-growing amusement. “Am I?” 

“Yes,” Charles answers flippantly, flopping back against the couch. “Waltzing in at arse-o-clock in the morning—,” 

“I don’t believe I was _waltzing_ ,” Erik mutters in a weak attempt to interject. 

Charles goes on as if he hasn’t heard him. “Falling quite dramatically into my arms and moaning pathetically at me, ‘oh, Charles, you’re really lovely, I do believe I need your _medical expertise_ ’—,” 

Erik has that adorable look of confusion on. “Did I?” Good. 

“And I must say, I don’t remember _ever_ telling you that I have a Doctorate, and you really would have _died_ there if I hadn’t—,” 

“I wouldn’t say _die_ ,” Erik says with his lips turning downward. 

“—remembered a fraction of my first aid courses I took because it’s a requirement as part of being a _Professor_ —a _teacher_ , if you hadn’t forgotten, Erik, not a _doctor_ —; really, Erik, you should have allowed me to call the _ambulance_. I’m sure I could have smuggled you out again before they required your identity, _really_ —,” 

Erik chokes at that. Whether from laughter or disbelief, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he sits up to prod hard at Erik’s shoulder, an area where he’s _sure_ Erik hadn’t been injured but Erik winces _anyway_ and, oh god, Charles feels a lot of regret all of a sudden because what if Erik had possibly dislocated his shoulder and agitated it—?! 

Erik clears his throat, and that frown is back. He takes Charles into his arms carefully, as if Charles will push him away which is preposterous really, and kisses the corner of his lips.  

“I’m sorry, _Bärchen_ ,” Erik says quietly and whatever Erik has called him is lost on Charles. It must be something quite nice, though. “It wasn’t my intention to scare you like that. I—there were just... unexpected developments,” he finishes stiffly. 

Really now. They’re going to play _that_ game. Charles raises a brow. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing, Erik?” 

As he thought, Erik hesitates. It isn’t as if Charles hadn’t expected that, but he hoped that Erik will be able to inform him of what he’s going to do one day. Perhaps he’d been too hopeful— 

“I’m looking for something here,” Erik suddenly says, and Charles blinks in shock. Well, perhaps Erik _will_ tell him after all, even if will be in the vaguest way. “I found a solid lead last night but, as you saw, it was a dangerous one.” 

Charles pauses before asking, “did you find out anything?” 

Erik’s lip curls. “Unfortunately no.” 

And that’s the end of that topic, it seems, by the way Erik’s face closes off. At least Charles has _something_ to go off. It’s not as if he’ll do anything with the information, as powerless as he is, but he has some idea of what’s going on, and that’s enough. 

“Well,” Charles says, uncurling from Erik’s arms to stand and stretch, “let’s have breakfast, shall we, my love?” 

The words slip without his meaning to, and even Erik looks up at him sharply. Charles opens his mouth again to apologize, to take it back, because apparently they’d been far too comfortable— _Charles_ had been far too comfortable—but then Erik is relaxing again with a pleased smile crossing his lips like a satiated cat. 

There’s spark of gladness in his eyes as he gazes at Charles, carrying on as if there had been no pause. “And a game?” 

Charles slowly smiles, relaxing, and nods. “And a game.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive lost the handlebars on this story. what is happening anymore. like the flow is so bad i apologize omg i keep on changing plots its horrible lkjasf
> 
> please leave a kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed!!! thanks so much to the people who already have lkajsklm and for taking the time to read this mess of a fanfic... i really do appreciate it iuoiutkj.


End file.
